


Playing The Other Side

by Wtchcool



Category: Smallville, The Cape
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wtchcool/pseuds/Wtchcool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Carnival doesn't have a monopoly on magic. When a real magician comes to Palm City, a spell gone awry causes Vince Faraday to switch places with Peter Fleming. To make matters worse, Scales has escaped from prison and is seeking revenge against Chess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sympathy for the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned “The Cape,” we’d be enjoying season two right now. As for “Smallville,” don’t get me started.

This was, without a doubt, the last time she volunteered to do an assignment for the Justice League. For some inexplicable reason, the psychotic villain known as Chess had only been brought to the League’s attention after he had been killed. What really got the heroes’ attention was the fact that there were reports of new victims and new schemes attributable to Chess months after his alter-ego, Sergeant Vince Faraday had been caught. It had been decided that someone should head to Palm City to investigate the circumstances of Chess’ death. Zatanna had volunteered for the job.  
  
  
    It had seemed like a good idea at the time. She’d heard rumors of a man performing magic in Palm City and she figured while she was in town she could find out whether there was any truth to them. Alas, all she’d found was an illusionist named Max Malini. The public might be impressed by his act, but Zatanna, who could do real magic, found the performance terribly disappointing.  
  
  
    And yet, she’d rather be back at the Carnival than stuck here. ARK Corporation was throwing a fundraiser to raise money for the victims of Chess. You would think Peter Fleming would know how to throw a good party, but the magician was bored out of her skull. She hadn’t found out anything useful and she was about ready to call it a night. Just then, she spied the CEO coming towards her.  
  
  
    “You know, it’s funny, but I don’t remember hiring a magician for this event,” Fleming smiled.   
  
  
    “I guess someone in your company thought a little magic would liven up the place,” Zatanna said, eliciting a scoff from him.  
  
  
    “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t insult my intelligence by pretending that sleight of hand is magic.”  
  
  
    “You don’t believe in magic, Mr. Fleming?”  
  
  
    “Well, magic certainly didn’t get me where I am today.”  
  
  
    “A billionaire running the company in charge of Palm City’s security. Not bad,” Zatanna conceded, “but isn’t there anything else you wish you had?”  
  
  
    Peter frowned. That had struck a nerve.   
  
  
    “Yes,” he murmured, “I suppose so.” He wanted his family back. He wanted to know where his daughter was. Apparently, that was something his money couldn’t help him with. He’d have given up his fortune if necessary and had parted with a sizable chunk of it, but it hadn’t worked. He was no closer to finding Jamie than when he first discovered she was missing.  
  
  
    Zatanna noticed the light go right out of the billionaire’s eyes as he contemplated whatever it was he didn’t have. He looked so…heartbroken. She almost wished she hadn’t asked. To her surprise, she realized she felt bad for him. She would never have thought that she would grant a wish to a wealthy man like Fleming, of all people, but… maybe a little magic was in order.   
  
  
PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF  
  
  
    Peter expected to wake up the next morning with a hangover, so he was pleasantly surprised to find that his head wasn’t pounding. He opened his eyes slowly, in case the room was too bright…  
  
  
    Okay, this was not his penthouse. Either he was still drunk or he had not slept in his own bed. Although, he mused, he would like to think that even drunk he would have better taste than to sleep here. Maybe Chess had chosen the accommodations.  
  
  
     _What makes you think that I would choose to stay here, Peter? And what is this, some sort of makeshift cave?_  
  
  
    Much as Peter hated to do so, he agreed with Chess’ sentiments. The place did look like a bloody dump. He got up and started walking around.  
  
  
    No sign of anyone he might have spent the night with. Perhaps that was a good sign. On the other hand, this was not his underwear he was wearing… not a train of thought he wanted to follow.  
  
  
    There was a bulletin board on the wall. It looked like something you’d expect to see in a cop’s office, all set up with clues for some big case, full of photos and newspaper clippings and sticky pads and… His eyes widened.  
  
  
     _It’s about us--our crimes, our victims._ His eyes alighted on one of his press releases for ARK, tacked to the board to emphasize the connection between Peter Fleming and Chess. Someone knew his secret.  
  
  
     _Not for long, he won’t._   
  
  
    Peter closed his eyes. Even without a hangover, it still seemed too early in the morning to deal with the homicidal maniac that shared his head. He opened his eyes again. There had to be a loo around somewhere. Finding the bathroom at last, he used the facilities, washed his face and then caught sight of his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Only it wasn’t his reflection staring back at him: it was a ghost’s. _Ugh_. He clasped a hand to his chest and hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack. He glanced behind him to see if anyone was standing there. No, he was alone. (Well, as alone as he could be considering his split personality.)  
  
  
    The tightness in his chest dissipated. He turned back to the mirror. This was not possible. Instead of Peter Fleming’s handsome face--  
  
  
     _A bit narcissistic, are we?--_  
  
  
    Vince Faraday’s face was gaping at him from the glass. He’d know that face anywhere. Any citizen in Palm City would recognize it, if only because his news stations had flashed it repeatedly, gloating over “Chess’ death.” If not dreaming, he was very obviously still drunk. Not only was it physically impossible to switch bodies with someone, but there was no such thing as ghosts or…zombies or whatever it was that writers cooked up for their crazed fans. There was no way he was in Faraday’s body, which would be six feet under if it hadn’t been blown to smithereens.  
  
  
    Maybe coffee would dispel the bizarre hallucination…  
  
  
    “Hey Vince, are you up yet?” Orwell bounded through Vince’s hideout as if she owned the place. “There you are! Morning, sunshine! Oh, you look like you’ve had a rough night. Listen, I have big news: Scales-- What is it? What’s wrong?”  
  
  
    Peter could only gape at the young woman, his mouth opening and closing in a completely undignified manner. If this turned out to be just a dream or a hallucination, he would do something even more uncharacteristic--cry. His long lost daughter, his Jamie, was right there.  
  
  
    “Jamie!” Without saying another word, he pulled an extremely startled Orwell into his arms. She pushed him off after a moment and clenched her fists.  
  
  
    “Vince, where the _hell_ did you hear that name?”  
  
 **  
Author’s Note: Whatever am I thinking starting a new fic so soon? I must be mental.  
  
Well, go ahead. Leave me a reason to continue the story or one to discontinue it.   
  
This is not tied to “In-Laws” or any of my other fics. Not planning to do much shipping in this story, but then by now you should know I make them up as I go along. You should also know not to expect me to consciously ship Vince/Orwell, which would be kind of incestuous in this fic, if you think about it.  
  
And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to think about what Vince could possibly have done to deserve this.**


	2. When You See My Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: You mean I don’t get the rights to “The Cape” as a reward for passing the bar exam? Blast!

Peter blinked. His daughter wasn’t using the name Jamie.  
  
  
     _She’s not using your name, Peter._ He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. It would have been far easier to track her if she was using the name Jamie Fleming. It made sense, but that didn’t ease the pain of learning she’d rejected his name. He wondered what name she was using.  
  
  
    “Well?”  
  
  
    Right, he hadn’t answered her question.  
  
  
    “Your father told me.”  
  
  
   _You idiot._ Now that the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back.  
  
  
    “My father? You don’t know who my father is! You couldn’t!” But he did know, didn’t he? Orwell ran a hand through her hair.  
  
  
    “Peter Fleming.”  
  
  
    “How long have you known? I suppose he told you the last time you were fighting, but--Damn it! I was working so hard to cover my tracks. How could he have figured out that I’m Orwell? Vince? Vince?! Are you alright?”  
  
  
    “I, I’ll be fine. I just had a rough night, that’s all,” Peter lied as he collapsed into a chair. His daughter was Orwell. His daughter wrote those exposès for that blog. She was the blogger his men were hunting. Oh god!  
  
  
    “That’s not all, is it? You’re mad at me for not telling you who I am and mad at me for being his daughter.”  
  
  
    “Now you listen to me: I am not ‘mad at you’ for being a Fleming. I could never hold that against you.”  
  
  
    “But?”  
  
  
    “But I am sorry that I didn’t know who you were.”  
  
  
    “I am sorry, Vince. I hope you can forgive me. Uh, can I ask you a question? What’s with the fake British accent? It’s a little creepy.”  
  
  
     _Creepy? I thought it sounded distinguished. You should’ve raised her in Britain._  
  
  
    Peter raised his eyebrows. Come to think of it, his voice did sound like Faraday’s, if he recalled correctly, except it sounded warped by the accent that Peter had used without thinking about it. Not a good way to keep Jamie from getting suspicious. Okay, he had lived on this side of the pond long enough. He could fake an American accent.  
  
  
    “My apologies. Must’ve spent too much time talking to your father,” he wondered if she would believe that. Why would she think he would be speaking to a man that, until very recently, he believed did not have a pulse?   
  
  
    “Is that better?”  
  
  
    “Yes.”  
  
  
     _If you’re trying to impersonate Faraday, then yes._  
  
  
    This was going to hurt his head. Maybe this was a very vivid dream… Even if Faraday were alive, what would his daughter be doing with him?  
  
  
    “I don’t want to appear rude, Jamie, but why are you here?”  
  
  
    “Oh my god, I almost forgot! Scales broke out of Owl Island last night.”  
  
  
    “How is that possible? That place is a fortress!” This had to be Portman’s fault. If he’d been allowed to take over the prisons, Peter would have ensured that Raoul never saw the light of day again.  
  
  
    “I haven’t finished going through the security footage, yet.”  
  
  
    “How did you get the security footage?”   
  
  
    Jamie gave him a look that clearly said, _Duh, I’m Orwell._ He’d really like to know how she pulled off those tricks. She certainly hadn’t picked up her hacking skills from him.  
  
  
    “Anyway, the guards were distracted somehow and…”  
  
  
    “And what?” he prompted.  
  
  
    “He kept bashing his head into the bars until they came loose.”  
  
  
     _I can’t believe you ever hired that nutter._   
  
  
    Wasn’t that what was known as the pot calling the kettle black?  
  
  
    “I think we both know who he’s going to go after.”  
  
  
     _I wanted to kill him, but no! You said it would be enough to let him take the fall for killing Voyt._  
  
  
    “Look, I know protecting _him_ isn’t your favorite job and I don’t blame you. But I have to ask you to do it again. After everything the bastard has done, he’s still my father.”  
  
  
    Even though his daughter had just called him a bastard, Peter smiled. She still loved him. Then he processed what else she’d said.  
  
  
    “Jamie, what do you mean you have to ask me to protect--your father-- _‘again’?”_  
  
  
    “What, did you hit your head on patrol? You remember what happened with Dice, it wasn’t that long ago.”  
  
  
     _Dice…Oh, she means Tracey. She could’ve been fun if she wasn’t trying to kill us._  
  
  
    He had wanted to shag her. Probably wasn’t a good sign that he fancied his would-be assassin. (Although, hearing Chess’ voice in his head was enough to prove that he wasn’t normal.) The savant might have succeeded, too, if he hadn’t been saved by The Cape…  
  
  
    “You have got to be kidding me!”  
  
  
     _We didn’t switch places with a ghost, just with our archenemy._   
  
  
    “I know, I should’ve told you that I had an ulterior motive for asking you to save his life, but I didn’t know if you would still go through with it if you knew.”  
  
  
    “Could you remind me what you said to persuade me that The Cape should save Chess?”  
  
  
    “He’s not just Chess,” Orwell mumbled.  
  
  
    “I know that.”  
  
  
    “You do?” Orwell looked at him skeptically.  
  
  
    “Chess is just one part of who I, of who _he_ is. He’s your father; he can’t be completely bad. But I don’t think you persuaded me by pointing out his redeeming qualities.”  
  
  
    “You know what I said. I pointed out that if Dice killed him, the truth would die with him and then you’d never be able to clear your name. That Dice knew he was Chess and might be able to help you prove it.”  
  
  
    “And she turned out to be less than cooperative in that department?”  
  
  
    “Guess the bitch didn’t appreciate getting sent to Owl Island,” Orwell shrugged. Dice should’ve known better. Hell hath no fury like a Fleming scorned. “Now, about Scales--”  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    Vince opened his eyes and then shut them quickly. Too bright, too bright! What the hell? Why was his head pounding? He didn’t remember drinking anything last night. Hadn’t he learned his lesson after Max convinced him to share that snakeskin drink? Elixir of life, his ass.   
  
  
    Oh, god. He had to puke. He tried to walk to the bathroom with his eyes closed, but smacked into a wall. Ouch! Who put that there?   
  
  
    …Okay, that sounded a little drunk, but he really thought he knew the layout of his cave well enough to navigate it with his eyes closed. Alright, maybe he could just open his eyes a tiny fraction…  
  
  
    This wasn’t his hideout! It looked familiar, though. What did it remind him of? It almost looked like…like Fleming’s penthouse: amazing view of Palm City, ridiculously expensive furniture, tacky knickknacks and a chess board set up. Oh, crap! It _was_ Fleming’s penthouse. Any second Fleming would be bursting in on him with a few dozen ARK guards or a couple of Tarot assassins.   
  
  
    He waited a couple of seconds, but no one came bursting in. On the other hand, something was trying to make its way up. Which way was Fleming’s bathroom?   
  
  
    Miraculously, he made it to the toilet just in time. Mind you, it would’ve served Fleming right if he had thrown up all over some of the expensive furniture. He washed his face and then took a look at himself in the mirror. What the…? Why did his reflection look like Fleming? No! No freaking way!  
  
  
    He spent the next few minutes vomiting into the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Chess still funny? Vince too screwed? Unnecessary time spent on discussing accents?


	3. Hope It Gives You Hell

Peter stared at the costume. She couldn’t possibly expect him to wear The Cape’s mask. Oh, that’s right. She did expect him to, because Jamie believed that he was The Cape. Well, too bad. No way. Wasn’t going to happen. The mask he wore for public appearances was bad enough. That was as close to playing the hero as he ever wanted to get. He didn’t even know how to use the cape. He’d just tell Jamie-- well he wasn’t sure what he’d tell her. He’d think of something. Lying had become second-nature to him.  
  
  
    He turned to find his daughter glued to the computer. He supposed that, now that he knew she was Orwell, the sight should frighten him, but it didn’t. It felt natural. She looked so at ease, so within her element, so completely unbothered by the fact that he was standing a few paces away. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her like this. Suddenly, she gasped.  
  
  
    “Vince, you’re going to want to see this,” she said as she enlarged a screen. He drew closer.  
  
  
    “According to this, Fleming--”  
  
  
    “You mean, your father,” he corrected her.  
  
  
    “Right, ‘dear old dad,’” she said sarcastically, “just announced he’s going to hold a press conference.”  
  
  
     _Peter, we didn’t have any press conferences scheduled for today._ What the hell was Faraday up to?  
  
  
    “A conference on what?” he asked aloud.  
  
  
    “He’s expected to announce that Chess is still alive. That makes no sense! Why would he do that? Unless…”  
  
  
    “Unless?”  
  
  
    “Unless he’s got another scapegoat ready for the slaughter. Although, he’d have to admit that you were innocent. It doesn’t add up. Why aren’t you in costume?” she asked, as if just noticing his attire.  
  
  
    “Well--”  
  
  
    “Hurry up! I’d bet money that Scales is going to attack him during the press conference.”  
  
  
    And he was supposed to protect the man that was planning to blow his secret on live television. Maybe Scales would be doing him a favor…  
  
  
     _How are you going to get back into your body if it’s out of commission, Peter?_ As if he had the foggiest idea of how to get back into it, anyway. Still… he looked at Jamie’s face. She obviously cared for Faraday and wouldn’t want him hurt. She was counting on him to do the right thing. Peter was tired of letting her down.  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    Vince straightened Fleming’s tie as he waited for them to go on the air. After a shower, some vitamin C, and some Gatorade, he was feeling almost-human again. Then he’d come across Chess’ mask and had a flashback to the day its replica had been stapled to his head. That son of a bitch with the media in his pocket had ruined his name. Now, somehow he was stuck in the bastard’s body.  
  
  
    Maybe he should look at this as an opportunity. Turnabout was fair play. If he was Fleming, that meant that he owned the media now. He could arrange a press conference any time he wanted. He had looked down at the mask. He could tell the world that Chess was still alive and he wasn’t Vince Faraday.  
  
  
DRDRDRDRDRDRDRDR  
  
  
    Scales went through a quick last minute check-list. Semi-automatic? Check. Ammunition? Check. Explosives, just in case of emergency? Check.   
  
  
    Fleming was going to regret double-crossing him. He loaded the magazine and then closed the action. No one puts Dominic Raoul in a cage and gets away with it. He straightened up as he pushed his childhood memories to the back of his mind. _No one._  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    “Hello?” Dana Faraday answered her cell phone.  
  
  
    “ _Dana, turn on the news,”_ Travis instructed.  
  
  
    “Why?”  
  
  
    “ _Peter Fleming is about to hold a press conference. Word is that whatever he’s going to say is going to exculpate Vince.”_   
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    Vince stepped up to the podium and faced the sea of reporters.  
  
  
    “I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here today. Some of you may have heard that I’m here to give an innocent man back his reputation and allow his family to move on in peace.   
  
  
    Ladies and gentleman, I stand here to tell you that Chess is--”  
  
  
    “GET DOWN!”  
  
  
    Vince ducked as a bullet soared over his head. He peeked around the podium to see what was going on.   
  
  
    “You’re a dead man, Fleming!”  
  
  
    Scales had shot at him. _When did he get out of prison?_ The fugitive wasn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit, but rather one of his customary suits. Scales cocked the pistol and started to aim again when he was attacked from behind. Vince’s eyes widened as he spied the imposter that was wearing his cape.  
  
  
    “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Fleming sneered as he wrestled the gun away from Raoul. Gripping the smuggler’s right arm straight out, he aimed a kick at Scales’ elbow. He smiled as it connected. That taken care of, he faced Faraday.  
  
  
    “Well? Don’t you think you ought to have ‘your’ men apprehend him?”  
  
  
    Vince blinked. He glanced away from the gun in Fleming’s hand and noticed that Scales was heading for the exit, clutching his injured arm. He turned to the ARK agents that had accompanied him to the conference.  
  
  
    “Uh, after him!” Vince directed. Then he looked back to Fleming, who was still holding Scales’ pistol. Somehow, Vince doubted that Fleming had put the safety on.  
  
  
    “You and I are going to have a little talk,” Peter hissed. He might not know how to use the cape, but he sure as hell knew how to use a gun.  
  
  
    “I’m not sure that that’s a good idea. You know, you’re making a scene,” Vince said. Fleming didn’t answer him. Instead, he pulled out what Vince recognized to be a couple of smoke bombs.  
  
  
    They were out of the building before the smoke cleared.  
  
  
PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF  
  
  
    Vince eyed the gun warily.  
  
  
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Surely you have to know that I’d be loath to shoot my own body,” Fleming told him. That made sense to Vince. He was similarly loath to beat the crap out of the billionaire as long as he was occupying Vince’s body.  
  
  
    “But you’re not putting the gun down because…?”  
  
  
    “Let’s say I like to keep my options open.”  
  
  
    “Okay, you have to stop wearing my mask,” _and my face,_ Vince mentally added.   
  
  
    “I do prefer my own,” Peter conceded. He held up his Chess mask, which he’d swiped from the podium before dragging Faraday out of there.  
  
  
    “Trade you?” Vince cracked a half-smile. Fleming rolled his eyes, but tossed Vince his mask.  
  
  
    “Hey, I want my cape back, too!”  
  
  
    “And I want my contacts, but we can discuss that later. I can’t believe you were about to rat me out,” Peter grumbled. He did pull the cape off. He couldn’t stand wearing it anymore than Faraday could stand watching him in it.  
  
  
    “Because you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” Vince asked.  
  
  
    “No, I wouldn’t have. You are in my body. If you had confessed to being Chess, you would’ve been the one arrested.”  
  
  
    “I had planned for that. I was going to turn myself in, peacefully. There wouldn’t have been any running for my life this time--”  
  
  
    “Right. Incidentally, if I hadn’t been there, you would have been killed.”  
  
  
    “Fine. I saved your life, you saved my life. Now we’re even,” _on that score, anyway,_ Vince thought.  
  
  
    “So you’re not going to thank me?”  
  
  
    “You didn’t thank me when I saved you. Anyway, I’m sure you only showed up to make sure that I kept my mouth shut.”  
  
  
    “That was a bonus, but as a matter of fact, Orwell sent me.”  
  
  
    “Orwell?” Vince froze. Damn it! Not only was his secret identity blown, but now Fleming had also seen Orwell’s face. Could this day get any worse?  
  
  
    “If you hurt her,” Vince began.  
  
  
    “Don’t worry, I won’t. I give you my word, Faraday.”  
  
  
    “Your word isn’t worth anything to me, Fleming. Does she know?”  
  
  
    “Does she know about this little escapade involving an ‘out-of-body experience’? No, she’s quite oblivious as to the fact that I am you, as evidenced by the fact that she didn’t try to kill me.” Alright, he exaggerated. If she was so concerned with keeping her father alive, he was fairly certain she wouldn’t have tried to kill him.   
  
  
    “So you’re pretending to be me. How did we get in this mess?”  
  
  
    “I have no idea. Truth be told, last night is a little hazy for me.”  
  
  
    “I’ll bet,” Vince snorted, “after all, I woke up to _your_ hang-over. I didn’t peg you for an alcoholic, Fleming.”  
  
  
    “I’m not. I usually don’t drink that much. Something must have set me off. I was at a fundraiser--”  
  
  
    “Raising money for your victims, I know. Isn’t that a little tacky, not to mention hypocritical?”  
  
  
    “It’s part of maintaining the act,” Peter replied. It was not--could not-- be an effort at assuaging his conscience. He was fairly certain he no longer had a conscience to appease. Chess had seen to that.  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    Dana stared at the television set in horror. She knew that if Scales hadn’t interrupted the press conference, Fleming would have told the world that her husband was innocent. He would have revealed that the real Chess was still out there.  
  
  
    Instead, he’d been shot at by a deranged fugitive and then whisked away from the scene by her hero. She watched as the stations replayed the footage over and over again, but barely listened as the commentary became more and more irrelevant.  
  
  
    She turned the television off just as some moron asked whether anyone else had noticed that Fleming’s British accent had suddenly disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually had no idea what would cure a hang-over, so I looked it up.
> 
> Anyway, you know the drill. Please weigh in. Problems with any of the characters? Worried about Vince’s mental health?


	4. Do You Believe In Magic?

The two had made their way to Fleming’s penthouse, quietly slipping past security, the better to continue talking in private. Moreover, Peter insisted on picking up his costume, contacts and all, “because there’s no way in hell I’m going to continue parading around in your ridiculous cape.” (Reluctantly, in return, he’d given his nemesis back his own costume.)   
  
  
    Vince had had a moment of vertigo, watching his body don Chess’ regalia. Had any witnesses been present, they would have believed this conclusive proof that Vince Faraday was indeed Chess. (The fact that Chess’ costume fit his body perfectly didn’t help matters any. Maybe Vince was seeing things. Surely they weren’t the same size?) Once the moment had passed, Vince felt more at ease talking to Chess than he suspected he would have felt talking to himself. If he didn’t look too closely at his opponent’s face, he could almost forget they were in this impossible situation.  
  
  
    “So, what’s the last thing you remember before hitting the bar?” Although Faraday couldn’t see it, Peter furrowed his brow in concentration.  
  
  
    “There was a woman, wearing fish-net stockings--”  
  
  
    “Why am I not surprised?”  
  
  
     _Your reputation precedes you._  
  
  
    “No, it wasn’t like that! I didn’t sleep with her.”  
  
  
    “Obviously not, or I would have woken up with her.” Vince realized that his morning could actually have been worse than it was. Go figure. So, the bright side was he didn’t wake up with one of Fleming’s floozies. Somehow, the thought didn’t cheer him up much.  
  
  
    “I wasn’t _trying_ to sleep with her, Faraday. I was trying to find out how she had gained admittance. I didn’t hire her and she wasn’t on the guest list. I still don’t know what she was doing there. I would never have called for a magician--”  
  
  
    “A magician?” Vince asked.  
  
  
    “Right. I remember…she seemed surprised that I didn’t believe in magic--”  
  
  
    “You…? Oh, god! You idiot! And then we just _happened_ to wake up in each other’s bodies the next morning! Do you believe in magic, now, Peter?”  
  
  
    “Excuse me. If this hadn’t happened, would you have believed that magic was real?”  
  
  
    “Just forget it. What was the name of this magician?”  
  
  
    “I can’t remember.”  
  
  
    “Well, we’re going to have to find out, aren’t we? I don’t see why she would have made us switch bodies, though. What the hell did you say to her?”  
  
  
    “Nothing! All I remember is telling her I did just fine for myself without magic and then…”  
  
  
    “Yes?”  
  
  
    “I don’t know. She said something about money and power not being everything…”  
  
  
     _Which is nonsense._  
  
  
    Well, Chess might believe that, but Peter knew better. Family was everything. Ah, that would explain his (Faraday’s?) hangover. Speaking of family… Jamie now believed that they both knew her secret.  
  
  
     _Thanks to your big mouth._  
  
  
    “Faraday, there’s something I need to tell you. Orwell--”  
  
  
    “Oh, no! Did she hit on you thinking you were me?” In all of the confusion, Vince hadn’t thought to call his partner and warn her that he had switched places with a homicidal maniac. Well, he wouldn’t be winning any friend of the year awards soon.  
  
  
    “What? No! That would have been disturbing.”  
  
  
    “Why would it have been disturbing?”  
  
  
    “Because she’s my daughter.”  
  
  
     _And there are some things even we won’t do, namely incest._  
  
  
    “Ha, good one!” Vince waited for Fleming to smile at his own joke. “You are joking, aren’t you?”  
  
  
    “No, I’m not. Her name is Jamie Fleming and if you ever break my little girl’s heart, you’ll wish you died in that explosion, got it?”  
  
  
    “Got it.”  
  
  
     _Oh, break her heart! Please break her heart! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been let out?_  
  
  
    Not long enough, Peter thought as he clenched his fists. Why on earth did his alter ego have to be such an immature, selfish, insensitive arse?  
  
  
     _Well, I’m a part of you, so what does that say about you, Peter?_  
  
  
    Maybe when he found that magician, he could ask her if she did exorcisms…  
  
  
     _I’m a second personality, not a ghost, you dim-witted--_  
  
  
    “Hello, earth to Fleming! Are you in there? You looked like you spaced out,” Vince said.   
  
  
    “Just contemplating what I’d like to do to you. What were you saying?”  
  
  
    “That there’s nothing going on between me and-- Jamie. We’re just friends. I mean, I thought we were close friends, but she didn’t say anything about being related to you, although that makes sense--the fact that she didn’t say anything I mean, not the fact that she’s related to you. I’m going to need time to wrap my mind around that. I don’t see the resemblance. I don’t see how you could be old enough to be her father--”  
  
  
    “Faraday, quit babbling! You’re going to give me a headache. We need to decide on a course of action.”  
  
  
    “We’ll split up. You--”  
  
  
    “You think I’m going to leave you alone after you nearly blew my secret identity on live television?”  
  
  
    “Oh and I suppose you think I like the idea of letting Chess out of my sight when you swore the first thing you’d do after finding out my identity was go after my family!” Vince’s eyes widened as soon as he realized what he’d said. Oh no! “If you go anywhere near my family--”  
  
  
    “You’ll what? Bore me to tears with your babbling?” That did it. With a swish of the cape, Vince lifted Fleming off his feet.   
  
  
    “You do not want to know what I am capable of, Fleming,” Vince hissed dangerously. “If you dare to go anywhere near Dana or Trip, you’ll be begging Scales to put you out of your misery. Do you understand me?”  
  
  
     _Feisty!_  
  
  
    “Perfectly,” Fleming replied, ignoring Chess’, well whatever that was. How could Peter ever surrender control to him when he couldn’t predict what he would say or do? “Now kindly put me down. I assure you that I have more important things on my mind than playing peek-a-boo with your wife and son.” Vince held on, seething, his eyes trying to search Fleming’s. Unfortunately, it was hard to see anything past the stupid contacts he wore. Finally, he lowered the deranged billionaire to the floor.  
  
  
    “Right,” Peter continued. “So, we’ll split up. Jamie and I will try to locate the magician from last night. You’ll do what you do best, which I assume is to run around the city in those tights.”  
  
  
    “Seriously, when you go around wearing _that,_ you don’t get to judge me. Not to mention the fact that I’m going to be busy hunting down the guy that’s after your sorry ass.”  
  
  
    “Currently he’s after you--”  
  
  
    “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” Vince took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. “I hope you’re not planning on going back to Orwell dressed like that.”  
  
  
    “Don’t worry; I won’t.”  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    Vince kept his hood pulled low, concealing Fleming’s hair, as he crouched on the roof of the Faraday’s apartment building. Alright, so this wasn’t going to get him any closer to finding Scales, but he had to see for himself that his family was okay.   
  
  
    The sun had set, so he felt he ought to be able to get away with no one noticing that his features weren’t his own…if he was lucky. Before long, Trip climbed up on the roof, looking worried.  
  
  
    “Mom said she wants to have a word with you. She’s on her way up now. Are you in trouble?”  
  
  
    “I hope not. Why would I be in trouble?” as Vince finished speaking, Dana stepped onto the roof.   
  
  
    “Trip, why don’t you go do your homework?”  
  
  
    “I’ve already done my homework.”  
  
  
    “Then go inside and read something, okay? Mommy needs to have a talk with your friend.”  
  
  
    Vince distinctly heard the pre-teen murmur, “good luck” as he walked past him before disappearing into the building.  
  
  
    “Good evening, Mrs. Faraday.”  Vince did his best to reduce Fleming’s voice to a rasp.  
  
  
    “Good evening. I want to talk about what happened at the press conference today. The man you saved, Fleming, he knows Vince was innocent, doesn’t he? That’s what he was going to say before Raoul opened fire.” Vince tensed. He was never good at lying to Dana. Every time he paid her a visit as the Cape, he was half-waiting for her to realize who he really was. Finally, Vince nodded.  
  
  
    “Yes, he was.”  
  
  
    “You got him to safety?”  
  
  
    “Yeah, and before you can ask, yes, I am going to find Scales and send him back to Owl Island where he belongs.”  
  
  
    “That’s great! Why am I sensing a ‘but’? Fleming is going to reschedule the press conference, isn’t he?”  
  
  
    “Actually, I’m afraid Fleming has had a change of heart.”  
  
  
    “What?”  
  
  
    “Well, when I spoke to him afterwards, he was very emphatic about not wanting to announce Vince’s innocence, ever.”  
  
  
    “But, but he can’t do that! How could he make such a complete turnaround so quickly? Just because Scales attacked him--”  
  
  
    “Oh, it’s really not about Scales. It, uh, it turns out the press conference hadn’t been Fleming’s idea in the first place. I sort of put him up to it.”  
  
  
    “You did?”  
  
  
    “Well, you know I feel strongly that Vince was wronged and that his name should be cleared.”  
  
  
    “So what did you do, blackmail Fleming?”  
  
  
    “Uh…”  
  
  
    “I mean, if you did, you can tell me. I’m a defense attorney, remember? There’s attorney-client confidentiality--”  
  
  
    “Da-- Mrs. Faraday, I didn’t blackmail Fleming. It’s complicated, okay? Let’s just say that I thought I’d persuaded him to see things my way, but it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.”  
  
  
    Dana looked into the vigilante’s eyes. Was it her imagination or were they a different shade of blue this evening? She shook her head. Had to be a trick of the light.  
  
  
PFPFPFPFPFPFPF  
  
  
    True to his word, Peter returned to Vince’s cave, sans costume. As he suspected, his daughter was there, plowing away at the computer.  
  
  
    “What took you so long; you stop off at Trolley Park after the conference?”   
  
  
    Peter blinked. What was so special about Trolley Park…? Before he could answer, Orwell glanced at him.  
  
  
    “When did you change out of the cape?” she asked.  
  
  
    “Shortly after I saved your father.”  
  
  
    “I saw the footage. Looked like you broke Scales’ elbow. Don’t suppose you managed to catch him?”  
  
  
    “Not yet, no.”  
  
  
    “I suppose I could run a search of incoming patients in Palm City’s hospitals, but somehow I don’t think it’ll be that easy. Even Scales isn’t stupid enough to make his capture…” Orwell trailed off. Her face blanched.  
  
  
   _I don’t know. Scales is pretty stupid.  
_  
  
    “Sweethe--” Peter coughed, “I mean, Jamie, what’s wrong?”  
  
  
    “Vince, you didn’t misplace the cape by any chance, did you?”  
  
  
    “No, why?” Orwell enlarged a screen showing live footage from a security camera on the roof of the Faraday’s building. There, in black and white, were the clear figures of Dana Faraday and the Cape.  
  
  
    “Then would you care to explain how you could be in two places at the same time?”  
  
  
    “Not really,” Fleming replied.  
  
  
     _Faraday, you idiot!_ Chess fumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Dragomir, for beta-ing this chapter.
> 
> Well? Want to yell at me for the cliff-hanger? Think Peter ought to let Chess deal with Vince? Any issues, like with their costumes being the same size? How will I know if you don’t tell me?


	5. Every Cop's a Criminal

“He’s obviously an imposter,” Peter assured his daughter.   
  
  
    “An imposter?”  
  
  
    “Of course. Remember when the head of prisons, Patrick Portman, dressed up as…me? No doubt this is just one of the Cape’s adoring fans.” Peter didn’t quite manage to keep the sneer off his face. He understood that Portman was grateful that the Cape had saved his life, but it still baffled him that the man had decided to wear that costume to the masquerade.  
  
  
     _Or maybe you’re just hurt that no one dressed up as Chess._  
  
  
    “I don’t know, Vince. An imposter with Max’s cape? That looks a lot more authentic than the outfit Portman wore on the train and that doesn’t look anything like Portman. Not to mention the fact that whoever that is is talking with Dana. Aside from the carnival, who knows who you are? If I didn’t know any better, I’d…” Orwell trailed off.  
  
  
    “You’d what?”  
  
  
    “Ask you what you were up to.” She pushed a few buttons. If that was the Cape on the screen, he’d be wearing his headset…   
  
  
    “What are you doing?” Peter asked, just as Orwell put Vince on speaker.  
  
  
    “Vince, what are you doing?”  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    “But Fleming does know that my husband was innocent?” Dana pressed.  
  
  
    “Yes, he does, but it isn’t that simple…” Vince trailed off as he heard the words coming over his headset.  
  
  
    “ _Vince, what are you doing?”  
_  
  
    “How is it not simple? He owns up to the fact that ARK made a mistake, which cost my husband his--”  
  
  
    “Excuse me, Mrs. Faraday. I have to go. Goodnight.” He leapt off the rooftop and onto another one and another and another, before finally stopping to answer his partner.  
  
  
    “Were you watching me? You bugged my family’s building? I can’t believe this! Orwell doesn’t always have to watch _everything,_ you know. A man should be entitled to a little privacy--”  
  
  
    “ _Oh my god! Vince. That is you, isn’t it?”_   
  
  
    “Of course it’s me! Who else would I…?” Vince punched the nearest wall. How could he have given himself away?  
  
  
    “ _Do you want to explain to me how it is that I’m looking at you right now?”  
  
_  
    “Uh, you have more cameras here?”  
  
  
     _“That’s not the point. I meant that Vince Faraday is right here at the hideout.”_  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    Orwell picked up her taser and aimed it at the man standing by her.  
  
  
    “And you have about five seconds to explain what’s going on before I taser you.”  
  
  
    “Jamie, don’t do this,” Peter implored her.  
  
  
    “ _Shit,”_ Vince swore. _“Orwell, I can explain.”_  
  
  
    “I’m listening.”  
  
  
    “ _I haven’t exactly been myself today,”_ he chuckled nervously.   
  
  
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
  
    “ _Do you have me on camera now?”_  
  
  
    “Yes.” Orwell moved so that she could keep an eye on the screen while still keeping the taser aimed at ‘Vince.’  
  
  
    “ _Watch closely.”_  
  
  
    “NO! DON’T DO IT!” _Damn it, Faraday!_ But it was too late. Staring directly into the camera he’d just spotted, Vince very deliberately pulled back his hood.  
  
  
    “I don’t understand,” Orwell said. The vigilante’s hair wasn’t Vince’s, but she knew it from somewhere.  
  
  
    “You keep that mask on, you ignorant--”  
  
  
    “ _Just shut up! We might as well tell her,”_ Vince said, dropping the last of the rasp from Fleming’s voice.  
  
  
    Orwell’s insides went cold. She knew that voice. She licked her lips.  
  
  
    “Tell me what?”  
  
  
    “ _Oh come on, Orwell! Didn’t you wonder why Peter Fleming was suddenly going to announce Chess’ real identity?”_  
  
  
    Hadn’t she said earlier that the press conference made no sense to her?  
  
  
     _“Didn’t you find it the least bit odd that the Cape didn’t use his signature weapon once during today’s rescue?”_  
  
  
    Well, yes, she had been wondering. Aside from a couple of smoke bombs, the Cape hadn’t used any of his favorite tricks against Scales. It was almost as if he had forgotten how to use the cape. Matter of fact…  
  
  
     _“Wouldn’t the real Cape have done everything possible to make sure that Fleming stayed at the press conference and cleared his name, instead of whisk him away at gun point?_  
  
  
 _“We’ve switched places.”  
_  
  
    “Who is ‘we’?” Orwell asked, though the pieces had just clicked into place.  
  
  
    “ _Well, I really hate to put it this way, but technically Vince Faraday is Chess.”_ Orwell’s mouth opened and closed as she stared at the man wearing Vince’s face.  
  
  
    “Dad?”  
  
  
    “Yes, sweetheart; it’s me. Would you mind putting the taser down?”  
  
  
    Orwell blinked. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Her father was capable of a lot of things, but changing bodies wasn’t one of them…  
  
  
    Oh god! He knew everything now: not just that she was Orwell (though now she knew how he had known her name), but also Vince’s identity and the location of his hideout. She’d even mentioned Max and the Carnival of Crime! Maybe this was just a nightmare? Although, she hadn’t had a nightmare this bad since… …before the Lich’s toxin had left her system.  
  
  
    “Jamie, _please.”_ Orwell looked down and realized she was still pointing her taser at her father. She bit her lip. Her instincts told her that if she put down the weapon, she’d be unprotected, vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was to show vulnerability to him.   
  
  
    But then she’d been vulnerable this morning, when she had first walked into the hideout. Not only had she not had a weapon at the ready, but she hadn’t realized who she was facing. He, on the other hand, had recognized her immediately…and he hadn’t attacked her. He hadn’t argued with her when she sent him…to save Vince, apparently. Instead, he had done as she’d asked. It was almost as if he had declared a truce, crazy as that seemed. (She winced at that thought. Why did insanity have to run in her family?) Finally, she set the taser down.  
  
  
    “ _Now that that’s out of the way, why the hell didn’t you tell me that Chess was your father?”_  
  
  
    “Faraday, you have no business talking to my daughter that way!”  
  
  
    “ _Stuff it, Fleming! I wasn’t talking to you!”_  
  
  
    “No, you got us into this mess talking to your wife earlier. Now you’ve blown our cover. I can’t believe you’re wearing your headset, let alone the fact that you answered Jamie. You knew I was going to be here with her. What happened to you tracking down Scales?”  
  
  
    “ _You know what? I don’t work for you anymore. You can’t give me orders!”_  
  
  
    “WHAT ORDERS?!” Peter took a deep breath. He would not let Faraday make him lose his cool. “You _volunteered_ to track him down, remember?”  
  
  
    “ _I didn’t say when I would, though.”  
_  
  
    Anything Peter was going to say next was cut off by the sound of a shrill whistle. Taking his eyes off the screen, he found that it was his daughter who had whistled to get their attention.  
  
  
    “Enough! Vince, you get your butt back here pronto! You both have a lot of explaining to do.”   
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    “Explain. Now.” Orwell crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at them expectantly. Vince had removed his mask, revealing Peter’s face and, frankly, giving Orwell the creeps. He was the first to speak.  
  
  
    “It’s his fault.”  
  
  
    “Oh, that’s real mature, Faraday.”  
  
  
    “You’re the one that pissed off a magician!”  
  
  
    “I didn’t piss off any--”  
  
  
    “Hang on. Vince, did you say a magician?”  
  
  
    “That was stupid. She’d sooner believe that wormholes and higher dimensions were involved,” Peter said. He had thought his ballerina had strange tastes, devouring sci-fi novels like they were going out of season. As a scientist, he had tried to raise her to be down to earth, to instill in her from an early age that magic and other supernatural nonsense didn’t exist in the real world… So it turned out he was wrong. Guess he couldn’t be right about everything.   
  
  
    “Just tell me what happened.”  
  
  
    “There was a magician at the fund-raiser last night,” Peter shrugged. “I was going to ask for your assistance in locating her. I told her what I thought about magic and next thing I know, I wake up here.” Orwell raised an eyebrow.  
  
  
    “That’s a little bizarre, don’t you think? Whoever she is, she couldn’t have known Vince is still alive, let alone that he’s your archenemy.”  
  
  
    “Isn’t ‘archenemy’ a little melodramatic?”  
  
  
    “Trust me, Fleming, it’s completely appropriate,” Vince put in.  
  
  
    “I’m just trying to figure out how this happened to the two of you. Dad, is there anything else you remember?”  
  
  
    “He was drinking. I woke up with his hangover. By the way, Peter, I’ve added that to the list of things I will never forgive you for.”  
  
  
    “Be still my heart,” Peter drawled. Addressing Jamie, he added, “I don’t know. I did start drinking after my encounter with her.” Orwell’s interest piqued at that. Something must have upset him.  
  
  
    “Think back. What was said? What was going on?” Peter stared off into space. He recalled precisely what had put him into a bad mood.  
  
  
    “She was asking me if there was anything I would wish for, seeing as how I’ve already achieved money and power.” He looked into his daughter’s eyes. “There’s only one thing I could think of: that I would do anything to know where you were.” For a long moment, no one spoke. The hint of a blush staining her cheeks, Orwell turned to the computer and started typing.  
  
  
    “Looks like you got your wish,” Vince finally said. His partner coughed.  
  
  
    “Dad, you said you met her at last night’s fund-raiser?”  
  
  
    “That’s correct. How long do you think it will take…?”  
  
  
    “Is this her?” Orwell asked. She had pulled up footage from the fund-raiser’s security cameras and had frozen it on a shot of a brunette in fish-net stockings talking to her father. Peter blinked. He knew she was good, but he was still impressed by her computer skills.  
  
  
    “Yes, that’s her. Now we need to find out who--”  
  
  
    “Got it,” Orwell interrupted him, pulling up a new screen. “Zatanna Zatara: believed to be a part-time member of the Justice League of America.”  
  
  
    “The Justice League? What would have brought a member of the League to Palm City?” Vince asked, confused. Wasn’t the city off their radar?  
  
  
     _Let’s think. Who could possibly be important enough to warrant a visit from the J.L.A.?_   
  
  
    Chess’ words made Peter swear, drawing the attention of Vince and Jamie.   
  
  
    “It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s here because of Chess, because of _me.”_  
  
  
    “Perfect. Orwell, can you find out where she’s staying so she can change us back?”  
  
  
    “Now wait a second,” Peter said. “If we go to her and explain that she made us switch bodies, she’ll learn that you’re still alive.”  
  
  
    “And I can explain to her that you’re Chess, so that would be your problem, not mine,” Vince replied.  
  
  
    “Dad,” Orwell piped up before Peter could start fuming, “you’re not honestly telling me that you’d sooner stay stuck in Vince’s body forever than admit that you lied about Vince? Dad?”  
  
  
    “…I’m thinking…”  
  
  
    “Ugh! You’re hopeless. Well, you’ll have plenty of time to think while I track down Zatanna’s location. Meanwhile, what are we going to do about Scales?”  
  
  
    “Don’t worry. I’ll find him and put him back in his cage,” Vince promised.  
  
  
    “Is that a good idea?” Orwell asked. “I mean, as long as you’re in his body, you’re Scales’ target.”  
  
  
    “Thanks for reminding me,” _as if I could forget._ “I’m not going to be chasing him as Peter Fleming. I’m going after him as the Cape, who, in case you’ve forgotten, isn’t one of Scales’ favorite people to begin with.”   
  
  
DRDRDRDRDRDRDRDR  
  
  
    “Mr. Raoul, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Dr. Magnarelli asked.  
  
  
    Scales’ unofficial personal physician hadn’t expected another house call (which, in this case, meant Scales coming to his home) from his most infamous patient after he was indicted on charges of first degree murder. Their arrangement provided Raoul with a level of privacy he wouldn’t have received at a hospital. In return, Scales kept his mouth shut about certain indiscretions that might have jeopardized the doctor’s medical license.  
  
  
    “Evening, doc. ‘S my elbow; I think some blighter broke it.” Magnarelli sighed.  
  
  
    “Well, let’s take a look, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta’d by Dragomir. Special thanks to D for giving me the idea for Magnarelli. 
> 
> Well? Disappointed the guys didn’t find a way to wriggle out of Vince’s goof-up? Think Orwell found out Zatanna’s identity too quickly? Dying to know what will happen when they finally catch up with her? You know the drill.


	6. And All the Sinners Saints

The following night, Vince returned to the hideout in a foul mood. He punched the wall in frustration, and then bit back a groan as his hand stung.  
  
  
    “Would you kindly refrain from damaging my hand?” Peter asked. “I am going to want it back in one piece…” Vince spared him a dark look before beginning to rant.  
  
  
    “I’ve searched the whole city for him! I can’t find Scales _anywhere._ Have you had any better luck, Orwell?”  
  
  
    “None,” the blogger admitted ruefully. “He hasn’t shown up on any of the security cameras. We’ll just have to keep looking for him…”  
  
  
    “Maybe we won’t,” Vince said. “What if… what if we set a trap for him?”  
  
  
    “Excuse me?”  
  
  
    “When I held that press conference yesterday, it drew him out like a moth to the flame. If I call another one, he’s bound to be there! He wouldn’t be able to resist taking another shot at Fleming.”   
  
  
    Both Flemings spoke at the same time.  
  
  
    “You want to use yourself as bait?”  
  
  
    “You want to use my body as bait?”  
  
  
    “Well, yeah,” Vince said.   
  
  
    “So much for only going after him as the Cape,” Orwell muttered. “Are you completely insane? You’d be endangering not only yourself, but also a whole roomful of people: reporters, guards--”  
  
  
    “Then, we won’t make it a full-blown press conference this time. Orwell, you could put the word out that Peter Fleming is going to give a private interview to one reporter to finish what he started before the bullets started flying yesterday.”  
  
  
    “You’re not going to finish what you started unless you want Chess to pay a visit to Dana and--”  
  
  
    “Easy, Vince!” Orwell jumped up between them before things could get ugly. Vince had started approaching her father, and she was pretty sure steam was about to come out of his ears.  
  
  
    “Listen, dad, Vince just meant we’re going to spread a rumor that he’s going to spill some beans to a reporter. He didn’t mean he’s actually going to give away your secret. Let’s all calm down, okay?”  
  
  
    “Your daughter’s not always going to be there to protect you,” Vince warned Peter, who smiled.  
  
  
    “I’m counting on it. What did you have in mind?”  
  
  
    “Guys, cut it out! Now, Dad, you own all the media outlets in the city, besides my blog, I mean,” she added at her father’s look. “Which one do you think would be best for what we have in mind, the _Herald?”_  
  
  
    “No good. Even Scales would be able to figure out I’d go to a television studio in such a case…” Peter snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. We’ll use the local NBC station. They’ve got the perfect room…”   
  
  
DRDRDRDRDRDRDRDRDRDR  
  
  
    The following day saw Scales lurking outside the studios of Palm City’s NBC affiliate. ( _Yeah, right. More like another one of ARK’s affiliates,_ Scales thought.) So this was where Orwell’s blog said he’d be able to find that tossbag. The smuggler’s right arm was in a sling. Dr. Magnarelli said it wouldn’t require surgery, but he still wasn’t going to be able to use the arm for awhile. Good thing he was ambidextrous…  
  
  
    After stowing the pistol in his holster, Scales used his left hand to pry open the back door, and slipped inside.  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    “I just can’t believe it. I told all the reporters and crew members that I needed them to evacuate the building, and everyone left, no questions asked.” Vince shook his head.  
  
  
    “Owning half-the city does have its perks,” Peter said, smirking.  
  
  
    “Only half?” Vince questioned.  
  
  
    “Well, it depends on…”  
  
  
    “Guys, seriously, Scales could burst in at any second. Do you think we could focus?” Jamie was at home in her role of the reporter there for the exclusive interview with Peter Fleming. Only problem was that anyone coming in the door wouldn’t see Peter Fleming, but then, they weren’t trying to recreate the scene from the other day.  
  
  
    Scales burst into the room to find Chess sitting across from a reporter.  
  
  
    “You nutter,” Raoul said as he took in the sight of Chess’ mask and contacts. “So it’s true, then? You decided to tell ev’ryone who you are?”  
  
  
    “Well, no one believed the truth when they heard it from you. I thought I’d see whether the public would be stupid enough to disregard it after I confessed,” Peter drawled. Scales paused. Was it just him or did Fleming’s voice sound funny? Eh, not important.  
  
  
    “I’m afraid we’ll never know, mate,” Scales said as he aimed the gun at Chess.   
  
  
    “I wouldn’t say never,” a voice came from behind Scales. As he turned to see who it was, a familiar cape whisked the pistol out of his hand.  
  
  
    “You again!” Scales snarled. Vince smiled.  
  
  
    “Yeah, me.”  
  
  
    “What are you doin’ protectin’ ’im?”  
  
  
    “It’s a long story. I’m going to try not to make a habit out of it. But, hey, how could I miss the chance to see your reptilian face again?”  
  
  
    “I’m not going back to Owl Island.”  
  
  
    “We’ll see about that.” Vince used the cape to throw Scales into a wall. The body slumped onto the floor.  
  
  
    “Is he out?” Vince asked. Peter bent down to check and Scales grabbed on and head-butted him. The billionaire hissed in pain.  
  
  
    “That was uncalled for,” he chided, making sure to step on Scales’ bad arm. Swearing under his breath, the smuggler tried to get to his feet, only to be stopped by a taser. His body twitched for a few seconds as he lost consciousness. Peter and Vince turned to look at Orwell.  
  
  
    “What? You guys were taking too long.”  
  
  
PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF  
  
  
    That evening, after seeing to it that Scales was back in Owl Island where he belonged (wearing a nice straightjacket that, it was hoped, would deter further escape attempts), the three reconvened at Vince’s hideout.  
  
  
    “I found the hotel Zatanna’s staying in. Are you going to confront her there?” Orwell asked.   
  
  
    “How about we invite her to ARK Tower instead? That way we’d have the home-court advantage,” Peter suggested.  
  
  
    “Alright; better get her there quickly, though. Looks like she’s planning on checking out of her room the day after tomorrow, which either means she’s found what she was looking for--”  
  
  
    “Or she’s given up,” Vince finished.  
  
  
    “Probably the latter, considering she was looking for me,” Peter surmised. “All the more reason this doesn’t sit well with me. She’s decided to go back to the Justice League empty-handed, and you want me to waltz into my office and tell her that I’m Chess. Well, forget it. It‘s not happening.”  
  
  
    “Currently, it’s _my_ office, jackass, and it‘s going to stay that way if you don’t.”   
  
  
    “Vince, there’s really no need for name-calling,” Orwell said. Why did she have to be the one to play peacekeeper? “Look, Dad, we’re not saying you have to tell her you’re Chess. But you are going to have to face her or else Vince is right, you’ll be stuck like this: in the body of the man people believe to be Chess, I might add.”  
  
  
     _You’ve got to appreciate the irony, Peter.  
_  
  
    “Fine.” Peter crossed his arms. “Arrange the meet.”  
  
  
PFPFPFPFPFPFPFPFPF  
  
  
    A knock sounded on the door of Peter’s office.  
  
  
    “Come in,” Vince called. Zatanna walked in and closed the door behind her.  
  
  
    “Good to see you again, Mr. Fleming. I understand another attempt was made on your life yesterday. Are you alright?” The corner of Vince’s lips twitched.  
  
  
    “Fortunately, the Cape was there to save the day. Just a minute!” Vince called out, as another knock sounded on the door.  
  
  
    “Were you expecting someone else?” Zatanna asked.  
  
  
    “You were,” Vince replied.  
  
  
    “I’m sorry?”  
  
  
    “Zatanna, I am not the man you met at the fund-raiser a few nights ago.”  
  
  
    “What are you talking about?”  
  
  
    “Do you remember granting Peter Fleming a wish?”  
  
  
    “Yes,” she brightened. “So you noticed. How have you been enjoying it?”  
  
  
    “I’m sure I’d find it hilarious, if I wasn’t involved. I’m not Fleming; you made me switch bodies with him.” The knocking grew louder, more insistent.  
  
  
    “I _told_ you to wait a minute!” Vince called out. To Zatanna, he added, “He’s such an impatient bastard, you know. But then, he doesn’t like being kept outside of his own office.”  
  
  
    “If you’re not Peter Fleming,” Zatanna began, “then who are you?”  
  
  
    “First things first: I know you’re with the Justice League. What’s their privacy policy on secret identities? Do you have to be a member of the group in order to…?” Vince sighed as the door was flung open by ‘the Cape.’  
  
  
    “You just couldn’t wait, could you, Fleming?”  
  
  
    “You know me too well, Cape.” Peter looked at the magician. “Well, hello, Zatanna.”  
  
  
    “Fleming? You wished to switch bodies with the Cape?” Zatanna asked.  
  
  
    “No. God, no! I merely wanted certain information that apparently he was privy to. Can I take this damned costume off now?” Vince cleared his throat.  
  
  
    “So, about that League privacy policy?”  
  
  
    “You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone who you are-- I mean, were-- I mean--”  
  
  
    “Good enough for me,” Peter said, ripping the mask off his face and shedding the cape.  
  
  
    “No, that’s not possible. You’re Chess!” Peter crossed his arms.  
  
  
    “No, Faraday is the Cape. Regrettably, he was framed by our last Chief of Police, the late Marty Voyt.”   
  
  
    Vince’s hands curled into fists, but he said nothing as Fleming proceeded to drag Marty’s name through the dirt. He knew the lie was coming, but he still wasn’t happy about it.  
  
  
    “You see,” Peter was saying, “Voyt wanted to help secure ARK Corporation’s future in this city and, in his naïveté, he felt the best way to do that would be if ARK received credit for taking down Chess. Not knowing who Chess was, he went ahead and made Faraday out to be the villain. Vince had no choice but to fake his death and go into hiding.”  
  
  
    “And become the Cape,” Zatanna added.  
  
  
    “Oh, I think he had a choice about that,” Peter said.  
  
  
    “So the real Chess is still out there?”  
  
  
    “I’m afraid so.”  
  
  
    “Why haven’t you warned the public that Chess is on the loose?”  
  
  
    “Yeah, Peter, why haven’t you?” Vince asked. Peter gritted his teeth before arranging Faraday’s face into a smile.  
  
  
    “Naturally, I was shocked when I first found out about Voyt’s treachery, but it only recently came to my attention. I will, of course, be happy to issue a warning to Palm City’s citizens once this mess has been sorted out.”  
  
  
    “Right, sorry about that!” Zatanna raised her hands and chanted a few words under her breath. Then she looked at the men expectantly. “Did it work?”  
  
  
    “Yes, thank God!” Vince pumped his fist in the air.  
  
  
    “Zatanna, I understand you’re set to leave Palm City tomorrow,” Peter stated.  
  
  
    “That’s correct, why?”  
  
  
    “Do me a favor: kindly stay out of Palm City and tell the League to, as well.” Zatanna frowned at his rudeness.  
  
  
    “Told ya he was a bastard,” Vince said. “But seriously, you can tell the other League members we don’t need their help. The Cape has everything under control.”  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    “I see you got your body back,” Orwell commented as Vince returned to his cave.  
  
  
    “Good to see you, too,” Vince smiled. “Oh, is that the press conference? Turn up the volume!”  
  
  
    As he’d promised Zatanna, Peter Fleming was duly warning the public that Chess was still alive and that he wasn’t Vince Faraday. Vince grinned and tuned out the crap Fleming was saying about Marty. (The only part of what he’d told Zatanna that he wasn’t repeating verbatim was that Vince was the Cape.)  
  
  
    “You did it, Vince. Your name’s clear. You can go home to your family. Are you still going to wear the cape?” At her last words, Vince quit his little victory dance.  
  
  
    “I have to,” he said. “As long as your father is Chess, the Cape has to be there to stop him. But on the bright side, ARK has to lose its contract with the city now, right? There’s no way citizens of Palm City are going to want to be policed by corrupt morons who went after the wrong guy and let the real villain escape.”  
  
  
    “Oh, Vince. You still don’t know my father that well, do you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Dragomir, this chapter’s beta, for voting for the idea of setting a trap for Scales. 
> 
> What did you think? Three against one too unfair? Zatanna get off too easy? The guys switched back too soon? 
> 
> This is not the end. There will be a final chapter/epilogue. Hopefully it won’t be too pitiful…


	7. Epilogue: A Change in the Weather

Six months later:  
  
  
    “Vince, don’t tell me you have to work tonight too! Not again; this is ridiculous!” Dana Faraday exclaimed.   
  
  
    Six months ago, she had gotten her husband back, ostensibly, at least. She remembered tuning into Peter Fleming’s earth-shattering press conference. She was pleased that the Cape had somehow convinced Fleming to clear her husband’s name, after all. (Of course, if he hadn’t, Dana would have made a trip to ARK Tower to give Fleming a piece of her mind.)  
  
  
    But she had been floored when, instead of taking responsibility for her husband’s death, Fleming proceeded to announce that Vince was still alive, that he had gone into hiding until his name could be cleared.  
  
  
    The fact that she had to learn this from the television, instead of from her husband, did not improve her mood one iota. When Vince finally showed up at her apartment an hour or so later, there was quite a bit of yelling before she broke down, sobbing, into his arms. Her husband had acted like a louse, allowing her to think he was dead for the better part of a year, but he was still her husband and she still loved him. He was back home and, she thought, that was all that mattered.  
  
  
    She should have known better, of course.  
  
  
    Despite Fleming’s assurances to the public that Marty had framed Vince, there were rumblings that the Palm City District Attorney’s Office was looking into the possibility of prosecuting Vince for Chess’ crimes. By the end of a month, the District Attorney announced that they would not be bringing charges against Vince. There simply wasn’t enough evidence for the D.A. to feel confident that he would be found guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. (On the contrary, Vince’s military records showed that he was overseas when some of Chess’ early murders were committed in the United States. How this had escaped everyone else’s attention was beyond Dana.)  
  
  
    Unfortunately, Vince had already been convicted in the court of public opinion. The citizens of Palm City seemed convinced that, like Lizzie Borden, Vince Faraday had gotten away with murder. Vince was blacklisted. There was no way the Palm City Police Department would have given him his old job back… if, hypothetically, the PCPD was back in business.  
  
  
    In the midst of trying to rebuild his old life, Vince had been elated by the possibility of ARK losing its contract to provide law enforcement services to the city. Understandably, he blamed the corporation for destroying his reputation and disrupting his world (though Dana never heard him utter a word against Marty).   
  
  
    At first, it looked as if the mayor was going to rescind the contract. If, as the CEO claimed, the corporation had gone after the wrong man--had nearly killed him because of one rogue employee-- while the real Chess roamed the streets in secret, unhindered, ARK clearly was not the correct guardian for Palm City.   
  
  
    But Peter Fleming did not get to where he was today by letting events take their course. In the days following his press conference, he spent hours in emergency meetings with the mayor and the city council. The ARK Public Relations and Legal Departments worked around the clock.  
  
  
    In the end, Fleming had convinced the mayor that the city would have nothing to gain by breaching its contract with ARK. Not coincidentally, a few million dollars had changed hands, though the newspapers and television stations--all subsidiaries of ARK-- successfully buried that story.  
  
  
    The day Vince learned that ARK was going to continue to police the city, he nearly broke the television set. Fortunately, Dana persuaded him to go attack his punching bag, instead. He was still venting his anger when the doorbell rang.   
  
  
_Flashback_  
  
  
    Dana opened the door to see Peter Fleming standing before her.   
  
  
    “Hello, Mrs. Faraday. May I come inside?”  
  
  
    “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Fleming.”  
  
  
    “Is your husband home? I’d like to speak with him.”  
  
  
    “I don’t think he wants to speak with you.”  
  
  
    “But that’s not for you to decide, is it?” Peter asked as he slid past her and into the apartment. “I take it you’ve heard that ARK has managed to keep its contract with the city?”  
  
  
    “Yes, we have. If you’ve come to gloat, you’ve got a lot of nerve--”  
  
  
    “I haven’t come to gloat. I’ve come to offer your husband a job.”  
  
  
    “You…what?”  
  
  
    “Specifically, I’ve come to offer him the job he would have had at ARK if all this unpleasantness about Chess hadn’t occurred.”  
  
  
    “Well, that’s--”  
  
  
    Vince walked into the room, having realized who had rung the bell.  
  
  
    “Honey, Mr. Fleming was just telling me that he wants to offer you your job back.”  
  
  
    “Is that so? Well, Fleming, you can take your job and shove it up--”  
  
  
    “Forgive me, Faraday. I was under the impression that you wanted to be a cop. As you know, the PCPD is history.”  
  
  
    “Thanks to you,” Vince spat.  
  
  
    “Be that as it may. Do you really think anyone else will hire you now? Despite what I’ve said, a lot of people still believe that you’re Chess. Of course, we know that isn’t true, but that won’t help you find work. Come to ARK, join me and you can be a cop again.” No one spoke for a moment. Vince was still seething.  
  
  
    “He’ll think it over, if that’s okay, Mr. Fleming. Is it alright if he gives you a call when he’s made a decision?”  
  
  
    “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Faraday. I already know what move he’s going to make. I’ll see you on Monday, Vince,” Peter called over his shoulder as he turned to leave the apartment.   
  
  
_End Flashback_  
  
  
    Fleming had been right. Vince had, grudgingly, accepted the offer and gone to work at ARK Corporation. Somehow, the media did not have a field day about ARK hiring the man that had been accused of being Chess, but then, when you own the media, anything is possible, Dana mused.  
  
  
    So, it had been six months since Vince had come home to her and their son. Why then, did it feel as if he was never around? He had thrown himself into his work with a passion she had never seen before. Surely no one else at ARK put in the number of overtime hours he did. It was not unusual for Dana to go to bed or wake up alone, which would’ve been understandable if Vince was supposed to work the night shift. (Scratch that. It wouldn’t have been understandable. Considering her memory of the morning Dana had woken up without her husband, only to see him on the news running for his life, she would never again be okay with waking up to finding him gone.)  
  
  
    But when confronted, Vince merely shrugged and said something about working extra shifts or not wanting to keep her awake by bringing work home. He wouldn’t meet her eyes when he said this, though, and Dana knew he was keeping _something_ from her.  
  
  
    She half-feared that his secret was that he was having an affair. When she mentioned this to Vince one evening, he had choked on his beer and denied it vehemently.  
  
  
    Certainly Vince was still passionate with her. She had no complaints in that department, only… Some nights he would come home so amorous, a traitorous part of her wondered who it was he was thinking of as he lay with her. She pushed those thoughts aside. Vince loved _her_.   
  
  
    Maybe in another six months, she wouldn’t have to keep reminding herself of that.  
  
  
VFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVFVF  
  
  
    The Cape raced across the rooftops, guilt nagging at him. Vince knew it wasn’t fair for him to keep his alter ego a secret from his family, but he just couldn’t bring himself to tell them…  
  
  
    Trip had complained that the Cape had stopped coming around the apartment building. Surely, that would have been the perfect time for Vince to come clean. Instead, he’d made sure the Cape resumed his visits with Trip Faraday.   
  
  
    “What’s the matter with me?” Vince muttered to himself.  
  
  
    “ _Where should I start?”_ Orwell’s teasing voice came over his headset.  
  
  
     “It was a rhetorical question,” Vince replied. Jamie had continued her blog unabated. Like Vince, Orwell saw no reason to quit until her father stopped being Chess, _if_ her father ever stopped being Chess…  
  
  
    They had worried that his knowledge of their secret identities would spell disaster for them, but their fears were never realized. As it turned out, Peter, who had already called off the search for Orwell, was more concerned about the fact that they knew he was Chess. In exchange for their silence, he vowed not to touch Dana or Trip.  
  
  
    Unfortunately, he hadn’t made any promises about not making Vince’s life hell…  
  
  
 _Flashback_  
  
  
    After his coughing fit subsided, Vince faced Dana.  
  
  
    “An affair? Are you kidding me? If I’ve been at all unfaithful to you, it’s only been by being married to my work.” Vince went back to sipping his beer.  
  
  
    “You’re right. Maybe I should have a talk with Fleming, tell him to stop riding you so hard. Vince? Are you alright?” she thumped on his back as he started choking again.  
  
  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Dragomir, 1) for beta-reading this chapter, 2) for the tip about Vince’s military alibi, and 3) for pointing out that Peter would find a way for ARK to keep its contract with the city.
> 
> Plenty of subtext for everyone, no? :)
> 
> Be sure and let me know what you thought of the epilogue.


End file.
